


appetite (until your hunger is satisfied)

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Asshole Spanking, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Masturbation Interruptus, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In a surprising twist of events, he hadn't come home covered in blood (or monster slime, or other gross bodily fluids that are supposed to stay </i>inside<i> the  body and not smeared on his clothes), he wasn't bleeding and neither were his friends when he left them. For the first time in, well, ever, it seemed like they finally managed to find the one supernatural creature with a bit of sense of preservation who, miracle of miracles, didn't think killing everything that moved was a perfectly good way to pass the time. Stiles had been suitably impressed.</i></p><p>Or: Derek walks in on Stiles' alone time and decides to join in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	appetite (until your hunger is satisfied)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tzigane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzigane/gifts).



> Thank you so much to the [within_a_dream](http://archiveofourown.org/users/within_a_dream/pseuds/within_a_dream) for being a patient and very kind beta!

Living alone had been weirder than Stiles thought, at first. He was convinced that, since his dad used to work so much, he wouldn't have any problem adapting to living by himself, given that he already did that most of the time, anyway.

What he didn't take into consideration was the fact that while his dad worked a lot, he still spent time at home. And yeah, there were weeks when they barely saw each other, when Stiles would get home at night and his dad was just about to go to the station, when Stiles woke up in the middle of the night to the 7th step creaking under his dad's weight, but this was different.

Because living by himself meant that no one else would be in the house with him while he was sleeping, no one would leave him a post-it note reminding him to have breakfast, no one else would clean his bedroom and sort his socks in the drawers.

On the other hand, living alone meant that Stiles could come home from the latest encounter with the supernatural and do everything he wanted. He could've danced naked in his living room, if he so wished, or blared shitty music for the rest of the night or even start baking pot brownies!

The fact that Stiles was so tired he could barely stand was nothing but a minor flaw in his plans, okay?

Stiles moved towards the bathroom, thinking that the faster he got showered, the faster he could go to sleep. For once he didn't have to remove bits and pieces of werecreatures from his clothes or his face, which was definitely a plus. For some reason his hair seemed to especially attract unwanted body parts like some kind of weird magnet. The amount of times Stiles had to close his eyes and will himself not to think about the squishy substances sliding down the drain was way too high.

Stiles turned on the shower and started stripping. His shitty water heater would take a while to start working so he took his time. He got rid of his t-shirt and the plaid shirt above it at the same time, trying not to brain himself against the wall, before toeing off his shoes and sliding out of his jeans.

He tested the water temperature: still cold as balls. With a few choice curses, he got rid of his underwear and looked at himself in the mirror.

In a surprising twist of events, he hadn't come home covered in blood (or monster slime, or other gross bodily fluids that are supposed to stay _inside_ the body and not smeared on his clothes), he wasn't bleeding and neither were his friends when he left them. For the first time in, well, ever, it seemed like they finally managed to find the one supernatural creature with a bit of sense of preservation who, miracle of miracles, didn't think killing everything that moved was a perfectly good way to pass the time. Stiles had been suitably impressed. And also a bit suspicious, but that's just who he is.

Okay, maybe the pointed question about whether the witch had a creepy basement or if she'd started having a sudden urge to make human sacrifices weren't all that subtle. But neither were Scott's increasingly irritated elbow jabs. Subtlety was not their forte as a pack, probably.

The point is that for once in their life they managed to prevent death and mayhem with the liberal application of, wait for it, diplomacy! And no one had died! Yet. Stiles automatically knocked on the cabinet, which wasn't really wood but whatever, it'd have to do.

His lean body looked almost clean except for his hands, which were stained with grass and dirt from when he'd fallen down all on his own during one of his battles with gravity, but not actually abraded or cut. Maybe his skin was getting thicker, who knew.

Steam was starting to rise around him so he took a chance and walked into the shower. He switched the water from Mordor levels of hot to bearable and grabbed the soap.

He worked on his hands first, lathering them up and enjoying the little bubbles that came out of it. Once they were clean, he rinsed them and grabbed the shampoo, starting to work on his hair. He moved his fingers in slow circles, massaging the scalp and sighing a bit to himself. It was getting longer, almost n inch now; he'd have to cut it again soon, but for now he was letting it grow a little bit more.

He rinsed again, sputtering when some of the suds ended up in his nose and grabbed the soap again, passing the small lemon scented bar all over his body. He twitched when it caught a nipple and he realized that he wasn't _that_ tired yet.

Actually, he was starting to come around on the other side of tired, when he stopped feeling dead on his feet and started feeling twitchy and restless, not hypervigilant but almost there. Like he'd taken too much Adderall and his mind had started whirring 100 miles a minute. In a few hours he would crash, hard, but for now he had too much pent up energy to care.

He bit his lips before sliding his hands down his stomach to cup his cock. He was getting hard, almost as if his boner had a mind of its own. Well, that'd be one way to relax, wouldn't it?

He smirked to himself and quickly rinsed away all the soap, letting the water drip all over his body. He couldn't resist stroking himself a few times but he made himself stop. The hot water would soon run out and Stiles had never been a fan of cold showers, especially when he was jerking off.

He grabbed a towel and roughly dried his hair, his neck, his arms and chest, his legs and between them. He bit his lips when the soft cotton caressed his balls, swallowing dryly.

He padded out of the shower, another towel wrapped loosely around his hips, more out of habit than prudeness. He walked into his bedroom, shoved the covers at the end of his unmade bed and sprawled on it. He stretched like a cat, groaning as his joints popped.

He tried to tease himself, caressing his thighs first, his groin, scratching at his pubic hair, but he couldn't hold back for too long. He was wound way too tight for that.

When he took himself in hand he sighed with pleasure, his long fingers dancing around the shaft, tracing the veins and oh so lightly circling the head.

With his other hand he pinched his nipples, loving the way the sensation immediately travelled to his cock, making it jump. Moans started pouring out of his lips as he dug his nails in and gently scratched his chest. Four parallel lines of heat bloomed from his pecs to his navel and he twitched uncoordinatedly, his limbs moving on their own volition.

He wasn't thinking of anything in particular, no special fantasy or memory, just quick images flashing behind his closed eyelids: a warm, pink mouth wrapped around his cock, big deft hands cupping his ass, a rough beard scratching the sensitive insides of his thighs...

God, he could already feel it start to build, an orgasm quick like the ones he'd worked out of himself as a teenager.

He was getting there, rushing to the finish line when he heard it: the unmistakable sound of a window sliding open. His eyes flew open and he found himself face to face with Derek fucking Hale, professional cockblocker.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Derek smirked and Stiles groaned.

"Dude!" he grumbled without letting go of his dick. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see if everything was alright, but I think you have the situation under control," Derek replied, grinning wolfishly.

"Everything is, uh, completely under control, so if you'd be so kind to get the fuck out I'd appreciate it." Stiles glared at Derek, trying to nonchalantly pull his pillow from under his head to cover his crotch. Of course, Stiles and nonchalance had never mixed well, so he just flailed around like a moron.

"Yeah, I can see that you have the situation well in hand," Derek snorted.

Stiles wanted to give him a scathing reply, had one on the tip of his tongue even, but what came out of his mouth was instead: "Wait a second, did you just make a dick joke?" Derek opened his mouth but Stiles kept going: "You did! Oh my God, Derek Sourwolf Hale just made a dick joke, I need to call Scott and tell him!"

"Oh yeah, and what are you gonna say when he asks you how it happened, hm? Are you gonna tell him you were jerking off like a dirty little boy when I-" Derek's nostrils flared. He raised his eyebrows and smirked, looking from Stiles increasingly flushed face to his pillow. He looked him in the eyes again before murmuring "You've been very naughty, Stiles."

Stiles bit his lip to swallow the moan that threatened to claw its way out of his throat, but he couldn't help the way his traitorous dick kept leaking precome or the way his hips twitched against the pillow strategically placed on his lap.

He gulped, face going splotchy red all over. "Derek," he mumbled, feeling the blush travel down his neck and chest under that steady gaze.

"Turn around," Derek told him, his voice deceptively soft, like velvet, and Stiles found himself moving before he even thought about it.

He rolled on his stomach, ass up in the air, the pillow lying uselessly between his legs.

"Good. That's good, Stiles. But you were such a naughty boy, touching your dick all alone in your room like that... I'll have to punish you." Derek's voice had gradually come closer as he spoke and Stiles could feel Derek's jeans brush against his elbow before he crouched down.

The hand Derek slid in his hair was surprisingly gentle, but his words were filthy, going straight to Stiles' groin: "... Make you choke my dick, make you really feel it..."

Stiles couldn't help but moan at the thought. God, sucking Derek's dick sounded like a fantastic idea.

Derek chuckled. "That doesn't sound like a disagreement. But Stiles, if I have to punish you I can't do something that will get you off, you get that, right?" He stopped petting Stiles hair long enough for him to nod into the sheets. "Good thing I know just what I should do to you."

Stiles felt the bed dip as Derek knee walked behind him, his hand landing gently on his thighs. "Spread them for me, baby."

Stiles obeyed, trembling as his dick jerked and leaked another spurt of precome.

"And now count."

That was all the warning Stiles got before one of Derek's big hands came down on his ass.

The strange thing about spanking, Stiles thought hysterically, was that for an eternal second it didn't feel like much. And then his brain caught up with his ass and fuck. "Fuck!" Stiles hissed, trying to move away.

"None of that now," Derek chided grabbing Stiles' hips and to keep him in place. "I told you, count them," he ground out, his body covering Stiles' for just a second, long enough for him to feel that Derek was hard, was getting off on this too.

"One?" gasped Stiles, unable to spout any of his usual sassy one liners.

"Good. Want another? Yes, you do." And before Stiles had even had time to brace himself Derek smacked him right where ass meets thigh.

The sound Stiles made was halfway between a gasp and a wail. Damn werewolf strength, that hurt like a bitch. Stiles could already feel his ass start to redden, the warm flush spreading through all of his backside.

Derek said something but Stiles couldn't make out what it was, too caught up in the burning sensation. He hissed when Derek's nails pressed right where he'd just slapped him.

"Now that I've got your attention, will you please keep count for me, Stiles?"

Stiles shook his head. He couldn't even breathe, how could he count? His cock lay heavy between his legs and all Stiles could think was how much he wanted to just grab it and fucking come. Derek sighed.

"If you don't want to count, that's okay, I can find you something else to do, something that doesn't involve talking. Or speaking." He grabbed Stiles' hands and made him let go of the sheets before bringing them to Stiles' own ass. "Spread yourself open for me, baby."

Stiles choked on air and nodded frantically. He didn't have enough blood left in his brain to think, it was all rushing south to his poor neglected cock and his cherry red ass, but he could hold himself open. 

Fuck, he felt like a slut, naked and spread obscenely for Derek to look and spank and oh God please touch. Why wasn't Derek touching him?

"Shhh -” Derek shushed him “- I got you," and he did.

Derek went to fucking town on Stiles' ass. The blows were unpredictable, sometimes fast and in quick succession, sometimes interspersed by long caresses and hard gropes that made Stiles beg. Beg for it to stop, to never stop, for Derek to make him come, please.

He started crying when the first slap landed on his hole. He screamed and ground his hips on the sheets, thinking wildly that he was gonna finally come just from that. The sensation had been like nothing else he'd ever felt, less burn but much more sting than on his asscheeks, and he wanted it to never stop.

Of course Derek, because he was an asshole, started slapping the insides of his thighs again. Just when Stiles thought he wouldn't do it again, Derek's hand landed on his hole and then his balls. It was nothing but a tap, but it resonated into Stiles' sensitive body. He started frantically shoving his hips into the mattress, more turned on the ever, his short nails digging into his own ass, probably bruising it from how hard he was clutching at it.

Derek rose from behind him and plastered himself all over Stiles' back. He pressed Stiles against the bed, blessed friction against his dick and Derek's words were in his ear again: "Yeah, just like that. Rub yourself against the sheets like a bitch in heat, I wanna see you lose it all over yourself."

Derek's hips were rutting against Stiles' ass, his cock nestled between his cheeks, making everything hot and slick. Stiles kept hovering on the edge, so close to orgasm he could taste it but not there yet.

He sobbed when Derek's fingers dug into his ass, but it was the feel of a clawed hand wrapping itself around his bare throat that finally tipped him over.

He came so hard he saw stars, his vision blurring and his throat raw from screaming himself hoarse.

Derek didn't stop moving, kept humping his ass and Stiles would've have totally made a dog joke but he wanted it, he wanted to feel Derek come, wanted his jizz on his skin.

Derek growled and, oops, Stiles had apparently found his voice again because he was describing in detail one of his favorite fantasies, the one where Derek came all over his ass and then ate him out and oh. 

Oh fuck, that was Derek, real Derek not fantasy Derek, coming in hot thick stripes all over his ass, _marking_ him.

"Jesus," Stiles panted. He hurt everywhere and he was sure his legs were going to cramp as soon as he tried to move but damn. "Holy shit dude, who knew you had it in you!"

"Shut up Stiles," Derek mumbled, sounding half asleep.

"Are you falling asleep? Derek don't you dare, I need to move or my bones are gonna get stuck like this, I know you're a werewolf and you've probably never experienced the joy of having pins and needles all over your butt, but trust me, it hurts like a-"

Derek moved him without a word, clutching Stiles to his chest and laying them both down on their sides.

"Are we spooning now? Is this a thing that's really happening or is it an hallucination?"

"Sleep, Stiles," mumbled Derek, his words slurred. He mashed his face in Stiles' neck and rubbed his lips against his throat, almost definitely giving him stubble burn.

"Whatever," yawned Stiles. Sleep sounded good and they still had time to talk later, he thought to himself before letting his eyes slip shut and falling asleep.

/p


End file.
